Kingpin
by mr enthusiasm
Summary: This story is about Torchwick. It's about how he became a crime lord of Vale, why he got involved with Cinder, and what it all cost him. Evil does not spring up from nowhere. It must be cultivated in the destitute, inflamed in the repressed, and nurtured in the bitter. Only then can it truly flourish. Some AU elements but I try to paint within the lines, just with unexpected colors


**A Reason to Celebrate**

Fog hugged Vale's city streets with all the comfort of a sopping wet blanket. It had blown in from over the bay at moon rise and did not seem intent on leaving any time soon. It gave the whole docks area an otherworldly feel only truly dense fog could manage. To add to the creepiness, the faint sound of a man singing to himself could be heard somewhere within the haze.

"Happy birthday to me."

"Happy birthday to me."

"Happy birthday dear Torchwick."

"Happy birthday to me."

"Did you know I was twenty nine today?" said Torchwick to the groaning mass of flesh huddled on the apartment floor. He swung his cane with both hands viscously into the unfortunate soul's side. A fresh round of pained exclamations filled the room.  
Torchwick chuckled and took a deep drag on his cigar.

"Yep, twenty fucking nine. One year away from being old as balls. Not like you though." He acknowledged with his cigar before kicking the man in the face. "You're already well over the hill."

The man began whimpering.

"No no no. Sh Sh Shh," said Torchwick, "No crying, it's not that bad. We had a good run, you and I. Don't be sad about it. You do the talking bit, I do the hard bit. It worked great for awhile. But you see Felix," he continued, "it turns out the talking bit isn't that hard. You live fifteen years in Vale you make a friend or two. And your problem isn't that my friends don't like you. Your problem is that your friends don't like you. At least, not that much."

Torchwick crushed the end of his cigar into the man's cheek, grabbing hold of his face to hold him still. The man shrieked in pain.

"Enjoy retirement, buddy," whispered Torchwick into the still squirming man's ear.

He tossed the ruined cigar into a corner of the mold infested room and strode purposefully towards the doorway. As he reached it, he signaled the pair of men in black suits to finish things up for him.

Before he got too far down the hallway, though, one of henchmen said, "hey boss, come back here a sec."

Roman reentered the room, newly repainted in a rather slipshod study in scarlet. He sighed, red swords were nice for intimidation and all but they certainly made a mess of things when it came to actually doing something with them.

"Yes?" he asked testily.

"What do you want us to do with her?" asked the goon.

Roman looked over to the half naked women still leaking her lifeblood onto the bed.

"Well, the sheets are obviously ruined so there's no point in saving those," said Torchwick.

The goon blinked at him.

"Gods, does Junior actually pay you guys?" asked Torchwick, mainly to himself. "Get rid of her, obviously. Wherever you're dumping him she goes too. And, for the love of god, don't just stick them in a dumpster somewhere. Be a little creative about it."

The goon nodded briskly and went back to work. Torchwick waited a moment to make sure another crisis of stupidity didn't come up. Oh man, I need a drink, he thought.

He wandered out onto the street in front of the low rent apartment building, humming softly to himself. After all these years, things had gone a lot smoother than he expected. The last bit of real competition he had in Vale's underground economy murdered in his skivvies. Torchwick chuckled to himself as he fished out another cigar. Felix was finally gone, all the important heat in town were in his pocket, and every back alley deal in Vale now ran through him. A genuine Vale City rags to riches story he was, and he knew just how to celebrate such a momentous occasion. He practically skipped on his way past the shipping containers and cranes, lone king of the darkness all around him.

Torchwick liked whiskey. He liked its deep amber color. He liked the way the ice cubes clinked softly against the side of his glass. He especially liked the smooth feeling of fire that settled in the pit of his stomach after every sip. None of this, however, compared to just how much he enjoyed making Junior be the one to poor him each and every glass he asked for.

"Don't look so sullen, big guy," said Torchwick with smile.

"I managed to get three bottles of this stuff from Vacuo," said Junior, "Three, that's it. And you're already halfway through the second one."

"You make it sound like I'm the only one who drank the first bottle."

"You were."

"Ah yes, but I am worth it," said Torchwick, giving Junior his winningest smile.

Junior grunted at him. "I have real work to do Torchwick. Do we actually have anything else to discuss tonight or are you just going to drink me out of my best whiskey?"

"Would that hard work be named Militia or Melanie on this particular evening?" said Torchwick.

Junior growled at him.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive. Tonight is a night of celebration. Embrace it! You actually managed to pick the winning side for once."

"I made it the winning side!" said Junior in annoyance. "And knocking off an old codger with one foot in the grave doesn't exactly strike me as a surprising victory anyway."

The shadows on Torchwick's face deepened.

"You made it the winning side?" said Torchwick in mock surprise. "Junior, you have men on payroll." He made sure to put no small amount of emphasis on the next bit, "I, on the other hand, own you. Which means I own your men. Which is nearly an inconsequentially small part of things I consider my property. So let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?"

Torchwick swayed slightly as he pointed a menacing finger at Junior. Junior sighed but said nothing. Torchwick was the kind of arrogant prick who spoke like a bored aristocrat even when he was dressed in rags and starving. It had been humorous years ago watching the street rat strut around like he owned whatever ground he happened to be walking on. It was a lot less funny now.

"Got it," said Junior quietly.

"Good," said Torchwick, brightening. "Now that we have that cleared up, I have a present for you."

"Eh?" said Junior.

Torchwick reached behind him a laid a rather large hunk of metal on the bar with a thunk.

"Is this?" said Junior.

"Yep, Felix the hammers weapon of choice. I always thought a giant bat slash rocket launcher combination was a bit ostentatious myself but," Roman shrugged, "since he won't be using it anymore. I thought who better to hang onto it than my favorite seven foot teddy bear of a bartender."

"I resent that."  
"I know big guy."

Junior decided to examine his new weapon in lieu of losing another staring match with Torchwick. He swung it around a few times, the heft of it bringing a smile to his lips. A soft cough interrupted him.

"Excuse me," said an unfamiliar woman. "Are you going to play with your big stick all night because I was hoping to get a bit of service at some point."

Both men turned to find a dark haired woman calmly sitting on the barstool next to Torchwick. Her golden eyes smoldered at Junior mercilessly. Junior noticeably gulped. Torchwick looked from the women's bold smile to Junior's gaping mouth with some amusement. He let her toy with him for a bit before reaching across the bar and thumping Junior in the chest. Junior's mouth snapped shut and he blinked a couple times.

"Uh, right," he said. "What'll be ma'am?"

"Templeton rye, on rocks," she replied lazily. "A couple of whiskey stones too if you got them."

"It'll be a sec. I'm going to have to fish the stones out of a freezer somewhere."

"Better run along then."

"Uh, Right," said Junior. It took him a second or two to remember exactly which way the door to the back area was. Eventually he managed to find it.

Torchwick chuckled, "well that was amusing."

The woman turned the full force of her attention to Torchwick. He had to admit, he may have been a little uncharitable to Junior. The woman's gaze was scarily spellbinding. Anyone who lived as Torchwick had rapidly developed an instinct for self preservation. It didn't matter who you were, there was always a bigger fish. The trick was to make sure dealing with you was always more trouble than leaving you be. Failing that, running was also a very solid option.

"Glad I could amuse you, Roman."

Oh bugger, he thought. The faint hope that an alluring and dangerous woman had sat down next to him by happenstance quietly excused itself from his mind. Junior came back around to drop off the women's drink. She released Torchwick momentarily in order to sample it. Torchwick took the moment to compose himself.

"I should have figured," he said as nonchalantly as he could. "People generally don't wander into this club on accident, especially to sit next to me. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh," she pouted, "you disappoint me, Roman. I was hoping for at least a little small talk before we got to business."

Torchwick took deep swig of his whiskey before saying, "The name's Torchwick, and if you wanted a pleasant conversation you should have caught me half a bottle ago. I'm not really up for it at this point."

He stuck the comforting presence of a cigar between his teeth and started patting his coat down looking for his lighter. A light flickered into existence in front of him causing him to look up in surprise. The woman had her hand extended in front of her, a small flame dancing above her thumb. Oh goody, she's also a fire mage.

"I know what your name is, Roman," she said with a predatory smile.

Roman groaned internally. Maybe if he said no politely she'd just go away. He laughed to himself quietly. Yeah, and after that he'll talk the moon into putting itself back together and convince a nevermore to be his personal pet.

"Thanks," he said, leaning in so that he could properly light his cigar. After a few puffs he'd managed to calm himself down. This was business he told himself. He'd done business with a lot of scary people. Business he could do. "Alright, who the hell are you? I know everybody worth knowing in this city and you don't exactly strike me as small fry. Which means you're probably from out of town."

"Ooo, somebody's home under that hat after all. Well, since you asked so nicely. My name is Cinder Fall," she said, bowing her head slightly.

"Never heard of you," said Torchwick.

"I sure hope not," she replied. "Something would have gone horribly wrong if you had."

"So Ms. Fall. Back to the matter at hand, what can I help you with?" said Torwick, leaning back against the bar.

"Dust," said Cinder.

Torchwick smiled. "You and everyone else in Remnant."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, he thought. Dust was what Torchwick had started this little empire of his on. The Schnee dust company was practically a perfect monopoly. Naturally, they took advantage of this by keeping supplies artificially low and prices ridiculously high. Conveniently, this meant the black market price could also be sky high and still be undercut anything found in the average street corner shop. If the Schnee's had any competition at all they'd be forced to lower their prices. Suddenly, the risk wouldn't be worth it for guys like Torchwick to move the product around. The way it stood though, the black market in Vale was so well established the Schnee's didn't even bother fighting it anymore. Torwhick was a minor footnote in their multi-billion lien ledger, too small to even notice. He could move several thousand kilos a year and no one would bat an eye.

"How much are we talking about? I can get you a very fair deal if you want to set something up monthly," Torchwick said with a smile.

Cinder grinned back at him, "I want all of it."

It took Torchwick a minute to really process what she said. Once he had, it took a herculean effort not to waste the truly excellent whiskey by spitting it all over the bar. He swallowed, giving himself the breathing room to have a full throated laugh.

"You want all of it?" he said. "Do you even know how much that is?"

"Does it matter?" asked Cinder.

"Uhhh, yes, actually. I don't think you understand what you're asking."

"I'm asking you to steal every crystal shard and speck of dust in this city that you can get your hands on. If you manage to steal eighty percent of everything in store fronts and warehouses while also intercepting seventy five percent of new shipments you should have approximately five hundred tons of dust by the end of the month, twenty five hundred in six."

"That's half a billion lien worth of dust."

Cinder gazed at him levelly.

"Oh god you're serious."

Torchwick gave the nervous laugh of a man expecting a badger and finding an ursa. He pulled off his hat and ran his hands through his strikingly red hair. It took him awhile to figure out exactly how to explain just how crazy this was.

"Ok ok ok, I'm going to make this easier on both of us. It doesn't matter what you pay me. I won't do it. I can't exactly spend the money if I'm rotting in a jail cell in Atlas for the rest of my life."

"Pity, and here I was told you were good at your job," said Cinder.

"Oh I could do it," said Torchwick's drunken pride, "that's not the problem. You understand you're not talking about making some mom and pop shops go out of business. On that scale you start affecting the military. What exactly am I supposed to do when Ironwood brings half the Atlas army down here to get their dust back? He's not the kind of guy to ask nicely before he shoots you."

"Oh don't be melodramatic. Ozpin would never let Ironwood do that. He'd deal with it himself."

"Oh good," said Torchwook, his sarcasm levels rising rapidly. "Let's deal with Ozpin and his merry band of killer kids. Have you dealt with those kids before? Their swords are guns. Their boots are guns. Their fucking purses are big, fuck off, guns."  
"Would you believe me if I said it was for a good cause?"

"No," said Torchwick. "And furthermore, I wouldn't care. I'm not the type to get involved in some damn, fool, idealistic crusade."

"You seem pretty serious," she said.

"I am," said Torchwick.

"That's too bad."

"It is."

"Nothing I could say."

"Not a damn thing."

"I could just threaten to kill you," said Cinder.

Torchwick yawned. "You could," he agreed, "but you won't."

"Oh?" she asked.

At this point, Torchwick made a mistake. He'd had a long day, he'd drank a lot of whiskey, and he was tired of talking to crazy. Understandably then, one or two of the carefully honed instincts he'd earned over the years may have slipped his mind.

"Cinder," he started to say, then interrupted himself. "Oh, I'm calling you Cinder now, alright pumpkin? Ok. Now then, you came a long way from who the hell knows where to talk to me. You did that knowing exactly who I am, what I do, and fully aware that you need me to get whatever the hell it is you want done accomplished. Now, I'm going to make a bold assumption here and assume you're a smart lady. I know, I know, I'm taking a gamble, but I have faith. Now, as a smart lady knowing all these things about me, you'd also know that I couldn't get to my position by accident. This means I'd things like biting off more than I could chew simply for a bigger payday. It also means I've had my life threatened so many times it's actually rather boring at this point. All of this is to say I know you have some trump card that you're waiting to play or else you never would have come here in the first place. And honestly, I'm just sitting over here trying not to pass out long enough for you to get to the part where you explain to me exactly why you think you have my balls in a vice grip. Once you've done that, I can explain exactly why I don't give a shit, and then we can all go home. So, can we please skip to that part of the evening?"

Roman finished by glaring at the women he'd officially placed in the, so crazy she's dangerous, camp. There was a moment where part of him suggested that annoying a person he'd placed in said camp might be a bad idea, but he was too tired to give a shit.

"Ok, you win" said Cinder to the empty space next to her barstool. "He's not as dumb as I expected, final outburst not withstanding."

"Anger and alcohol always did tend to make Roman more honest than was sensible" signed a diminutive figure. Somehow, the space that Torchwick would have sworn was empty a second ago now contained a rather short female.

"You know, you could have made this a lot easier on him if you'd shown yourself from the beginning," said Cinder.

"I wouldn't bet on that," replied the tri-colored sprite.

Torchwick's brain had fused. His emotions used the disappearance of upper management to engage in a rather intense six way battle for territory on his face. His cigar dangled dangerously from his mouth, threatening to fall at any moment. He didn't notice. Neo turned to Roman, acknowledging his existence for the first time

"Long time no see Roman," she signed. "Happy birthday, by the way."

* * *

**AN: Did I name Roman's old partner Felix just so that I could Imagine Locust beating the crap out of him? Why yes, yes I did.**

**Also, the key to writing Torchwick dialogue? Always keep handy something you can pretend is a cigar. Everything just flows after that, I swear.**

**Disclaimer: All RWBY properties belong to their respective creators. If you haven't seen RWBY than you should. Like, right now. Seriously, they're free on youtube. Go already.**


End file.
